


A Spot of Lunch

by Think_of_a_Wonderful_Thought



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Other, The boys don't pay for dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 04:09:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19165528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Think_of_a_Wonderful_Thought/pseuds/Think_of_a_Wonderful_Thought
Summary: So this came about after swapping Good Omens headcanons with the incredible LadyRaincloud. She had the great thought that Zira and Crowley have had lunch a fair few times over the years and just… never pay for their meals. Either because Crowley distracts the waitstaff, or just because Zira is just radiating so much joy and Good Feelings that everyone just forgets to charge them.Then this wrote itself…





	A Spot of Lunch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyRaincloud](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRaincloud/gifts).



It was one of those things that they never really spoke about, but were both quite content to let happen. It had almost become part of the routine of their semi-regular lunches that they were just… never handed the bill. After all, did it really matter if the waiter was distracted by the sublime, euphoric aura of Heaven's messenger on Earth, or by some unnaturally Hellish inconveniences? A free meal was a free meal, and neither Aziraphale and Crowley were above quietly ignoring the elephant in the room, if it meant they never had to pay for Champagne at the Ritz.

In fact, there have been three known occasions in the history of existence in which either being was forced, as the humans would say, to cough up for the bill.

The first, in Canaan and sometime during that whole 'seven years of famine' thing, was really a consequence of poor manners. Aziraphale, having spent the last few months ensuring that the lovely prophet in Egypt got his garish coat back, had entirely forgotten that the rest of the Middle East was suffering from a severe shortage of food.

He had bumped into the Serpent of Eden somewhere near the Dead Sea, and the two of them had ended up carrying on their conversation at the first inn that they came across.

Having managed, with Crowley's assistance, to eat through an entire month's worth of the inn's food supply, Aziraphale found himself confronted with the rather unusual situation of being asked for payment. The lady of the house was a rather terrifying woman and had a glare that could no doubt douse Hell Fire. Aziraphale, of course, paid up, magnanimously ignoring the sniggers of the demon at his elbow.

The humans were content enough with the metal he gave to them, although the whole transaction left Aziraphale very bemused. Particularly as he then proceeded to leave them with a full larder and a replenished grain store (anything less would have been a shameless exploitation of their hospitality).

The second occasion, momentous as it was in the course of history, came in the midst of the whole "black death" business. Both Aziraphale and Crowley had been busy darting around Europe, trying desperately to keep people alive, or encourage them to- as it were- "snuff it", for the better part of three years. Crowley had long since lost track of who had been doing the killing and who had been doing the saving. Ultimately, it didn't make all that much difference; Pestilence would still be due for a significant pat on the back when they got back Down There.

After an intense few months in the south of France, Crowley had finally stopped to take a breather in Milan. It was one of the few places that had barely been touched by the plague- mainly by showing that utterly human combination of genius and brutality that saw them practising basic hygiene, quarantining the city, and boarding up the houses of anyone who looked as if they were getting so much as a sniffle.

Crowley was sat, brooding in a small restaurant in the middle of the city, one of the few places in the Mediterranean that still (somewhat miraculously) had a decent stock of olives. He was just on the verge of, extremely prematurely, inventing the martini, when Aziraphale walked through the front door.

Both beings got to chatting. They shared a glass of two of wine, which became a pitcher and then a whole barrel, both lamenting the horror of their current instructions and the spate of stupid, pointless, unnecessary death. They woke up the next morning with splitting headaches and a very unimpressed bartender standing over them. It was the first time that Crowley had ever suffered from a hangover, also, it was the first time that he ever paid a bill.

The third (and final) time was in a small bistro in West London, a few weeks after the Apocalypse-That-Was-Not. Aziraphale and Crowley had both agreed to meet there for brunch- one of humanity's greatest inventions, in their shared opinion. Over small glasses of crisp white wine and a nice selection of tapas, the two beings tentatively began to hash out a new Arrangement, one that would work with new status quo.

Aziraphale was charming as usual, lighting up the room with his smile as he hoarded the grilled halloumi and the parma ham. Crowley watched him with an indulgent smirk, lounging back in his chair and quaffing the delightful Sauvignon Blanc he'd chosen, whilst eating his way through more avocado that was entirely necessary for anyone let alone an immortal being who didn't, technically, need to eat at all.

They talked for hours and hours, as the servers kept refreshing the plates before them. By the time the first rush of office workers came hurrying in on the dot of five-past-five, they had come to a new deal. They decided that, in the new way of things, saying a grand fuck you to Heaven, Hell and the Grand Ineffable Fucking Plan, they were simply going to Take Things As They Come and See How Things Go. It was a delightfully human concept and a modern one at that. But it left both beings with small, pleased and slightly-tipsy smiles on their faces as the waitress (desperate to clear their table ahead of the dinner rush) brought over the bill. 

Crowley and Aziraphale both looked at each other over the stacked slates that had been serving as plates, and then both reached for their wallets. In the spirit of New Things and with the hope of something exciting just ahead, they agreed to split the bill. It was the first time they shared the cost of something; it was the last time they'd needed to.


End file.
